


Never Unseen

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Injury, Caretaking, Carrying, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Severus Snape, Implied Torture/Trauma, Kingsley Shacklebolt Sees All, M/M, Order Meetings, Pre-Relationship, Spy Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: Saying he'd hoped the day Severus let him help would come would be overstating the facts, but Kingsley certainly was glad he'd been around the night the other man needed his help more than he needed his pride.
Relationships: Kingsley Shacklebolt/Severus Snape
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Never Unseen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notearchiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notearchiver/gifts).



Grabbing Professor Snape's arm might not have been the best idea, but even in retrospect, Kingsley is not sorry he did it. He's not sorry he watched him more carefully than usual during the Order meeting they'd both joined at Grimmauld Place, not sorry he'd seen the barely visible yet still there gash on the man's temple, not sorry he'd followed him into the stairway when the meeting wound down. 

The professor was limping, no matter how much he compensated every step with his other leg. Directly asking him was an idea, but probably not the best. Snape had never been known to respond too well to concern, and yet, Kingsley still followed him up the stairs, until the man huffed and turned around a little less suddenly than he must have tried to go for. 

"What do you want?" 

The words were sneered, and the professor's eyes obscured by his hair falling into his face, his upper lip curled in disgust when Kingsley couldn't disguise his frowning quickly enough. 

"You're hurt." He said simply, and watched the effect it had ripple through the other man's stance. Watched how it made him stand taller and curl over himself in turn. Like it hurt to do even that. Like being too proud to hear it was causing him even more pain than he clearly was in. "Let me help you." 

"I do not require help." Snape articulated, his tone as cold as it had ever been the rare times Kingsley had seen someone or other show the man some unwanted attention. That's when Snape turned again to resume walking up to the first landing. That's when Kingsley thought it wise to grab his arm, or elbow more precisely. 

That's when he couldn't help, again, but notice, as always, that the professor flinched before he could stop himself. He flinched and a punched out sort of breath left his lips and he once again looked at Kingsley, stared him down with ice dripping from the blackest eyes Kingsley knew. All before Snape yanked his elbow from his grip and hissed, "Do not touch me." 

That's when, Kingsley knows maybe somewhat shamefully, his interest in professor Snape really kindled. He'd never been indifferent to his fate, or even less so his actions, but that night, and those injuries he never got to help him with, those were the tipping point in Kingsley paying attention to more than whether Snape was present to the meetings, or if his insider knowledge could be used for anything at hand. 

That night, that moment, Kingsley thought, Severus Snape took on more than he should have to, and bore down through more even, from sheer will and distrust. And maybe, just maybe, if he kept paying attention, Kingsley would be there the day Severus Snape needed more help than he would need his pride. Maybe, Kingsley would be able to hold his hand rather than grab his arm, but he doubted it would be that simple. 

* * *

Darkness was an old frenemy. At times soothing and convenient, at others the place of Severus's most terrifying, most chilling experiences. 

Black depths were what Severus was reaching now. His mind, his last strength, starred with millions of dying sparkles. The rain didn't help, but he wasn't even sure that that was what was pouring down his back and legs. Might have been blood. Might have been a torrent of tears now that he was out. 

But he didn't know where he was. The fireside hadn't roared when he'd pushed the door. The ground he'd met face first when he fell wasn't cold enough to be the tiles of his quarters. The air he felt chilling his drenched limbs wasn't even cold enough to be that of his dungeons. 

He didn't know where he'd apparated. And he couldn't move anymore. 

This was supposed to be the simpler part. The part where he finally got to not be awake and aware anymore. The part where if he died before he woke again, at least he would do it alone and quietly. With no one, whether old mage or ancient tyrant, to watch his last breath leave him. 

This was supposed to be home, and for all that Severus couldn't find the path in his mind to know where he truly had apparated, he knew it wasn't home. It wasn't Hogwarts. 

He heard himself gasp, and he heard himself cough, when a strong hand, and then another, wrapped around his arms, and then his middle section as he was pulled up by someone. He heard a low voice that he couldn't quite trace. Felt a breath down his neck as whoever it was who had found him dragged him away from the door, and up some stairs Severus only recognized to be stairs because his feet hit a few of their steps. He tried to struggle, but let it go, helpless but to listen to the buzzing in his heart that told him the way he was held, and talked to so low he couldn't hear it wasn't dangerous. He didn't feel safe, he could never, but he stopped fighting. 

He heard his blood in his ears and the pain that made the air he breathed burst out his lips. He tried to talk, and couldn't. Darkness once again replaced what blur he'd been able to see as quickly as it had receded. He passed out. 

* * *

"I will help you, and you won't tell me you don't need it." 

That's what Kingsley said, not for the first time that night, nor, he was sure, the last. It's all he could do to quiet both his mind, and Snape's thrashing around in the tub every time he came to. Which was not that often, which was worrying, which was why Kingsley was so diligent in the casting of his diagnostic spells. 

Only, they required the patient keep his moving to a minimum. So that too, Kingsley made sure happened — decency had been thrown out the window when he'd realized the wetness of the professor's robes had tainted his fingers a deep red, and the murmurs he could hear were ones the man was not even aware he was speaking. He'd undressed him as carefully as he'd been able to, and had checked the water pooling in the tub of Grimmauld Place a dozen times before helping Snape in. He'd tried not to stare at the bruises and scrapes and closed his eyes for a few seconds as nausea and stupefaction warred inside him. Then opened them again, and Snape's distress was what won, filling his mind and fueling his next moves. 

Diagnosis was easy enough, healing was not too difficult, but watching Snape cry in his unconscious state, watching the man Kingsley knew was winning them a war with his sacrifice suffer so much and so bravely, it took his breath away. It did not take his determination. 

The water stained itself red the more Snape regained the pale and unmarred color of his skin, his cheeks and chest whiter than Kingsley had ever seen or pictured them. 

It took longer than he would've liked, and the whispers and the slight moans of pain that slipped out of Snape's mouth, rough yet faint, stole Kingsley's heart right where it was stuck in his throat. 

"Come on," Kingsley said softly when he was finished cleaning and closing as many of the other man's wounds as he'd found, had dried him and covered him in a towel, "Let's get you to a bed." 

"Don't—" 

"Need help. I know." Kingsley lifted Snape, surprised to feel he was both heavier than he'd thought, and lighter than he probably should be. He did his best to watch his steps rather than the sickly pale face that was buried in his shoulder. Nevertheless, they reached the first bedroom Kingsley knew was empty most days and definitely was empty tonight, what with him having been alone here the whole evening prior to Snape's falling through the door. He pushed in, then pulled the thick blankets off and gently put the professor down. 

Transfiguring the towel into a robe of sorts took all of two seconds. A few more went into putting the blankets atop and around Snape. Then Kingsley turned around, torn as to what to do next, only to be stopped by cold, long fingers wrapping around his wrist. 

He turned his head again, just enough to see Snape's eyes half-open, yet open enough to stare him down like always. It seemed an age before the man said anything, and when he did, Kingsley felt he knew enough of the man to read into it more than what the words themselves should have meant. 

"Don't go." 

"I'm not going anywhere." Kingsley replied, twisting his hand around to dislodge and grasp Snape's fingers, squeezing them gently before putting the man's hand back on the bedspread, "Rest now." 

And then he moved the armchair in the corner closer to the bed, transfigured the seat into a longer one so he could spread his legs, and sat down, intent to stay there as long as Severus Snape would let him. Watching the man's eyes droop closed again, to hopefully wake up in something less than total misery. Watching the man's chest rise and fall with but a few hitches. Kingsley didn't sleep, but he kept watch over the other man doing exactly that.   
  



End file.
